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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27073096">One, Two, Three, Four</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/eastern_westward_home'>eastern_westward_home (orphan_account)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hetalia: Axis Powers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Drabble, Gift Fic, I tried to make it as accurate as possible I swear, I'm Sorry, World War One, series of drabbles</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-09 00:55:54</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>821</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27073096</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/eastern_westward_home</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Everybody has something to live for. It's just a matter of living.<br/>Four drabbles from four different POVS, set in two different battles during World War One.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>PruCan if you squint - Relationship</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Matthew Williams</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is a gift for my friend Doitsuduck! She got 200 subs today, and I wanted to make something special for her, in return for everything she's done for her subscribers.<br/>Please check out her channel! She does edits, amazing fanart, Hetalia tiktoks, and more!<br/></p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Link to Doitsuduck's channel: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCbzgPqUWNTmvtdmNL4N9r0g</p><p>...</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>At the Battle of Ypres… </em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Matthew couldn’t see, couldn’t hear, couldn’t breathe. The air reeked with the stench of death and fear, and the smoke from the guns and the dust from the battle choked him. </p><p> </p><p>He coughed, wiped at his nose and his eyes. </p><p> </p><p><em> I have to survive, </em> he thought grimly. He crept around the bodies of his fallen comrades, forcing himself not to think of ending up like them. <em> I have to survive for Alfred.  </em></p><p> </p><p>He thought of his brother in America, hefted his gun. <em> For Alfred.  </em></p><p> </p><p>The words played on loop in his head, drowning out the chaos around him. It was just him and the world. </p><p> </p><p><em> What a way to go, eh? </em>he thought, grimacing, as he watched a soldier get caught by a bullet, watched as the man fell screaming and landed silent.</p><p> </p><p>It was all a blur. Fight your way forward, try not to die. Stumble back, try not to die. Both sides were stuck in a see-saw motion, neither side gaining anything, neither side losing. </p><p> </p><p>Then something happened - a kind of <em> eureka! </em>moment. Matthew and the soldiers who were still alive charged forward in unison, and Matthew felt a sudden elation as he realized that they were gaining ground. </p><p> </p><p><em> We’re doing it! </em> he thought. <em> Alfred, I might see you again! Al, I- </em></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Gilbert Beilschmidt</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Gilbert looked at the man he had just shot down. No, not man. Enemy. All around him, the sound of bloodshed, and in front of him, a man he had just killed. It bugged him; he had the strangest feeling that he had done something he shouldn’t have. Maybe it was the way the enemy had fallen - like a puppet whose strings had been cut. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Yes, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Gilbert thought. </span>
  <em>
    <span>That must be it. He must have just fallen strangely.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then he frowned. </span>
  <em>
    <span>No. That </span>
  </em>
  <span>can’t</span>
  <em>
    <span> be it. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He shoved the image of the falling soldier out of his mind and continued shooting. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They advanced a couple more metres, and by that time, he had almost forgotten about the soldier. Almost. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His breath caught in his throat as he looked down. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was the soldier he had shot down. He was </span>
  <em>
    <span>sure </span>
  </em>
  <span>of it. It had to be him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Gilbert knelt, placed a gloved hand on the man’s cheek. The man’s eyes were open, and Gilbert marveled at their vivid colour. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was about to stand and continue on his way, when he saw the flag sewn into the soldier’s uniform. It was a Canadian flag.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re far away from home,” he said softly. Then, he thought, </span>
  <em>
    <span>died in a foriegn land, fighting someone else’s war. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” Gilbert whispered. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m sure you had a family, had people you loved. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Gilbert had a sudden, fleeting thought, and he grasped near the man’s neck, pulled out his dog tag. It was made of metal and it was small. He tugged it over the soldier’s head, and looked </span>
  <span>closer at it. The inscription read, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Matthew J. Williams. 1st Canadian Brigade</span>
  </em>
  <span>. That was followed by a line of numbers. Gilbert clenched his hand around it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I may have killed you, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he vowed, </span>
  <em>
    <span>but I will not forget you. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He slipped the dog tag over his own neck and left silently. </span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Feliciano Vargas</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> Meanwhile, at the Italian front… </em>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Feliciano wiped the sweat from his brow. They had been fighting endlessly for days, and he was sick of the massacre. His brother, Lovino, had died the day before, and Feliciano had never felt so lost or empty.</p><p> </p><p><em> I wish this would end, </em>he thought. </p><p> </p><p>Then he bit his lip, worried that he wasn’t being loyal enough to Italy. <em> Well, Lovino would have kept going, I’m sure.  </em></p><p> </p><p>And so, with that thought in mind, he steadied his nerves and carried on.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Ludwig Beilschmidt</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Ludwig ran a hand through his hair in frustration. They had been going nowhere for the past few days. Or was it weeks?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>One could never tell amidst the slog of battle. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He could only hope that it would be over soon. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Have they surrendered yet?” he asked as a harried-looking Roderich ran up to him.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Roderich shook his head. “No.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ludwig huffed, kicking at some pebbles on the ground. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But,” started Roderich.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ludwig looked at him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We did catch some of them,” he continued.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ludwig felt hope balloon up inside him. “Wonderful.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Roderich led him to where they had put the captives. It was a surprisingly small group, and they were tied to some posts. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“This is it?” he asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Roderick nodded.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ludwig looked over the prisoners. “How did you catch them?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A grin. “They tried to launch a surprise attack.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ludwig laughed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Suddenly one of the captives lunged forward. Somehow, he had gotten free from the rope that bound him to the post. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ludwig had time to gasp, and then the other man grabbed the gun from Ludwig’s holster and shot him square in the chest with a </span>
  <em>
    <span>bang</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Oh boy, there were some crazy plotholes in this one.<br/>Well, hope you didn't mind. (And in case you were wondering, the man who killed Ludwig is Feliciano. Because that makes, like, total sense.)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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